


Tipping the Scale

by fluffy_waffle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Chubby Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Feeding Kink, M/M, Stuffing, Teasing, Weight Gain, fat!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28525494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffy_waffle/pseuds/fluffy_waffle
Summary: “Do you think your diet’s working?” Derek asked innocently, as Stiles struggled with the buttons of a shirt he’d been planning to wear for brunch. The shirt had been looking a bit small for a while now.Stiles pretends he wants to lose weight. Derek pretends to support him. They both have a grand old (kinky) time.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 12
Kudos: 134





	Tipping the Scale

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinky weight gain nonsense and nothing else, and features a Very Fat Stiles (like 300+ pounds), so if that’s not your jam then maybe make a quick exit

“Derek?” Stiles’s voice fluttered in from the bathroom. “We need to go shopping.”

Fast as lightning, Derek was up off the couch and pushing open the bathroom door. He fixed his boyfriend with a stern look as Stiles gazed bashfully over at him, stepping off the scale in the middle of the room.

He was in a pair of boxer briefs and nothing more, bare torso pale and creamy in the sunlight, heavy gut dipping over the waistband.

Stiles said, “You might’ve been right.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What did I tell you?”

“I didn’t think it would be that much! I was only 270 last time I weighed myself. I know I’ve gained a bit, but I thought it would be fifteen pounds, maybe. Twenty at the most.”

Just by looking at Stiles, Derek knew the extra weight he’d piled on recently would add up to more than twenty pounds. He’d know it even if he hadn’t witnessed Stiles gorging himself every goddamn evening on burgers and fries, pad thai and spring rolls, orange chicken and fried rice, or whatever other takeout he ordered in or wheedled Derek to pick up on the way home. Not to mention the grazing he did through the day, donuts and cookies and shakes and chips, and his fondness for midnight snacks. 

“But I guess it’s more than that,” Stiles conceded. “Or,” he said eagerly, the idea suddenly occurring to him, “maybe the scale’s broken! We should try new batteries first. Shouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”

“Stiles, you said the exact same thing the last time you got too heavy for a scale.”

Stiles’s round cheeks blushed red. “Dude, this one maxes at 300 pounds.”

Derek gave the side of his belly a firm pat. “Guess you’re over 300 pounds, then.”

Stiles looked absolutely delicious, face and neck flushed prettily, big brown doe-eyes blinking up at Derek. He looked down at himself, over his doughy chest and the generous mound of tummy cresting out before him.

“How am I getting so fat, Der?”

Stiles’s wide-eyed innocence about his increasing weight had been adorable at 200 pounds, when he realized he was moving from ‘a bit chubby’ to ‘actually kinda fat’. It was still adorable now, and still enough to make Derek so fucking _weak_ for him. He cleared his throat, tried to pull himself together and stay in character. 

“There are a few obvious explanations.” Derek picked up Stiles’s lower belly with both hands, feeling the weight of it. He let it drop and the pale flesh wobbled helplessly. “All that beer and donuts has to go somewhere.”

“I’ve been trying to cut back,” Stiles protested. “And I will, definitely, once we get a new scale and I know what my actual starting weight is.”

Derek nudged the scale with his toe. “Another one bites the dust.” He gave Stiles’s plump rear a slap. “You’d better let me see.” 

Stiles sighed dramatically, but obediently stepped back onto the scale. Derek peered around him to see the display, which was kind of a struggle, as there was a lot of Stiles to peer around these days. He kept one hand on Stiles’s back, pressing gently into the hefty layer of padding that had accumulated there, his fingers sinking into the softness.

In angry red letters, the scale blinked _ERR._

Derek felt a hot thrill shiver through him at the sight, and he knew Stiles felt it too.

*

They ordered a new scale online, and delivery was due to take a couple of days. As he flicked through takeout menus on his phone, Stiles declared there was no point in starting his diet until the new scale arrived.

“I’ll get it out of my system,” he told Derek as he piled his plate high with fried shrimp, kung pao chicken, duck spring rolls and chow mein. “Eat everything I want now so I’m ready to start properly next week.”

“If I remember rightly,” Derek told him, taking a serving of chow mein and one spring roll, “you said the same thing last time.” He looked pointedly at Stiles’s belly, sitting heavy between his spread thighs. “And we all know how well that went.”

Stiles scowled and took another bite of shrimp. 

A few generous portions later, Derek scraped the remainder of the Chinese food onto a plate and handed it to Stiles.

“Thanks, Der.” He groaned, shifting his position to get comfortable. He arched his back to try and give his belly more room, and tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, though he’d pulled it down under his dome of a stomach after his first plate of food. “Fuck. Getting really full.”

Derek looked pointedly at the empty takeout cartons as if to say ‘I wonder why’. He rubbed Stiles’s belly for him as he shoveled the rest of the food down, and Stiles groaned between mouthfuls. 

“You need new pants, Stiles.” Continuing his ministrations with one hand, with the other Derek reached under the thick roll of flab at Stiles’s hip and wriggled his fingers into the waistband. He could feel how much they were digging into Stiles’s side, and knew that soft white flesh would be covered in red marks when Derek pulled them off him later tonight. 

“I don’t,” Stiles insisted, his breathing heavy. He shoved in the last mouthful of noodles. “They’ll be fine once I lose a few pounds. Which I will.”

Derek hummed. “If you’re sure.” 

He took the plate from where Stiles was resting it on the jut of his belly, and stroked down his boyfriend’s massive side, admiring how round and full he was. 

Stiles leaned back against the couch cushions, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. One hand was resting protectively on his bloated stomach, and Derek took this as an invitation to begin rubbing his tummy again. 

“You’re the best,” he groaned, as Derek’s hands worked out some of the tightness. 

When Stiles’s breathing began to steady, and his stomach seemed to have calmed down a little, Derek pressed a kiss to his damp forehead and began to clear away the plates and food containers. When he returned from the kitchen, he cleared his throat pointedly. Stiles’s eyes opened slowly, then went wide.

“Jesus, Derek.”

Derek sat down, petting Stiles’s belly affectionately with one hand, balancing the enormous slice of cheesecake with the other. To call it a ‘slice’ wasn’t really fair; it was half a cheesecake dumped on a plate. Stiles had eaten the other half the night before. He’d had no trouble polishing it off then, although the dinner he’d had beforehand had been slightly more restrained than tonight. 

“Need some help?” Derek offered.

Stiles began to wriggle into more of a seated position, then gave up, slouching back against the couch again. “God, yes.”

Derek took a fork and carved a good chunk of cheesecake. The base was thick and buttery, the filling was rich, and a strawberry syrup was drizzled on top, dripping thick and sweet down the sides. He held the fork to Stiles’s lips. 

“You’re gonna have to carry me to bed,” Stiles panted, when almost all the cake was gone. “Seriously. I’m, like, more cheesecake than human right now.” 

Derek leaned in to kiss a bit of strawberry from the corner of his mouth. He gave Stiles’s belly a little slap, and Stiles whined. “I think this is more than just cheesecake. Quite a lot more.” 

He gave Stiles a moment to rest, sliding his hand down his stomach and reaching underneath to where his cock was pressing into his doughy lower belly. Derek had been ignoring his own demanding cock for some time now, hard and aching against his fly. 

Stiles whimpered at the touch, and Derek smirked at him. “Couple more mouthfuls, Stiles, and then you’re done.”

Stiles glared at him, chest heaving, sweat at his temples, and swallowed the last bites of the cheesecake as though his life depended on it.

*

When the new scale arrived, Stiles stripped down to his underwear and soberly stepped onto it. He let Derek watch this time. 

His chubby second chin pooched out as he looked down, sucking in his stomach and pushing some of his chub in with one hand so that he could see the display. He looked up guiltily when the number settled on 307.

“Getting heavy, Stiles,” Derek told him, pinching at the fat on his upper arms, where it drooped down over the elbow. 

“It’s fine. Completely fine. My diet starts today,” Stiles said decisively. He pulled his t-shirt back on and looked up at Derek through his lashes. Almost immediately, his shirt began to climb up, his heavy lower belly plopping out the bottom. 

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles pulled his pants on too, grumbling, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt without success. Derek stroked along the strip of pale, wobbling tummy on display, tracing a few of the stretchmarks under Stiles’s deep belly button.

“Shall we get you some new clothes too?” Derek asked. “Or d’you think you’ll fit back into these soon?”

Stiles bit his lip, and Derek felt himself melting. “Maybe I’ll get a new pair of pants. A couple new shirts. Just until my diet kicks in.” 

Derek nodded. “What do you want for breakfast? I was gonna make waffles. Are those on your diet?”

Stiles thought about it. “If I just had one, that wouldn’t be too bad. With fruit. No syrup. What d’you think?”

Derek took a handful of the chub at his lower belly and gave a gentle squeeze. “Waffles it is.”

*

It wasn’t long before the new pants and shirts Stiles had bought were getting tight again. 

“Do you think your diet’s working?” Derek asked innocently, as Stiles struggled with the buttons of a shirt he’d been planning to wear for brunch. The shirt had been looking a bit small for a while now.

Come to think of it, the booths at the brunch place were getting a bit small for Stiles, too.

Stiles sighed. He abandoned his efforts with the shirt, letting his belly round out to its full size where he’d been sucking it in. The final two buttons had no hope of fastening; the rest were straining over the widest part of his middle, pockets of pale tummy poking out in between. “I’ve not been sticking to it recently, I guess.”

Derek stepped in to help and made a half-hearted attempt at getting the remaining buttons to fasten. Stiles sucked in again, but his stomach muscles (such as they were) had already been exhausted by his previous exertion. Derek patted Stiles’s belly consolingly, and a couple more buttons popped open. 

“I’ll find something else to wear.” Stiles started rummaging in his closet. “And my diet starts again _right now.”_

“Are we still getting brunch?” Derek questioned.

Stiles looked at him indignantly, setting his hands on his wide hips, the ineffective fabric of his shirt framing his huge, doughy belly. “Well of course we’re still getting _brunch,_ Derek. I’ll just be careful about what I order. Get whatever you get, maybe.”

Derek had avocado toast and a black coffee. Stiles had avocado toast (plus a poached egg and fried halloumi) and a large iced coffee. When he grumbled that he was still hungry, Derek ordered a few dishes for them to share — a stack of pancakes with bacon and syrup, a plate of sausages and hash browns, and a chocolate fudge sundae. 

They didn’t really share, and Derek practically had to hold his boyfriend upright as he waddled out of the diner.

“Was gonna weigh myself when we got home,” Stiles wheezed in the car, struggling to pull the seatbelt over his massive gut. He eventually lifted his belly up with both hands, wincing, while Derek fastened his seatbelt for him. “Might leave it til tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Derek cleared his throat. The scale hadn’t gotten much use since they bought it. Stiles had insisted he should wait to step on it until he was sure he’d lost some weight, which obviously hadn't happened. “It might be better to do it now. Get it over with. See what the damage is.”

“Der, I just ate half the diner! The _damage_ is gonna be pretty substantial.” 

He cradled his swollen tummy, and Derek tried very hard to focus on the road and ignore how Stiles’s belly and chest quivered with the movement of the car.

*

The next day, as promised, Stiles announced he was getting on the scale. 

“I know it’s gonna be bad, especially after yesterday.” He rubbed his tummy, biting his lip nervously. Derek gave his boyfriend’s stomach a soothing caress too; he knew it was still a bit tender. 

Yesterday’s brunch had turned into a lazy afternoon on the couch, Derek feeding him the box of donuts they picked up on the way home. Once he’d recovered enough for dinner, they ordered from their favorite Mexican place, and Derek brought Stiles a platter of chips and dip to tide him over until it arrived. 

Stiles ended up thoroughly stuffed, pinned to the couch by his own weight, gasping for Derek to rub his belly and stroke his cock. On both counts, Derek had been only too happy to oblige.

In the bathroom, Stiles hovered by the scale, glaring at it suspiciously. 

“It’s not the scale’s fault, Stiles,” Derek told him, amused. “ _It_ doesn’t force you to eat so much you can’t move, does it?”

“Asshole,” Stiles groused. He was wearing the pants and shirt he’d worn to bed and began to shuck them off. When he lost his balance a little, his weight throwing him off, Derek grabbed him and held him steady. 

With trepidation, Stiles stepped onto the scale. His eyes were squeezed shut, and Derek placed his usual comforting hand on the small of his back. There was more softness there than ever these days, and his ass was much fuller too, jutting out further and wider. Derek allowed himself to get distracted for a moment, admiring the swell of Stiles’s ass over the waistband where his boxers were failing to contain it. Then he looked up at Stiles, who had opened his eyes.

“Shit.”

Stiles was craning to see over his midsection, pushing in his belly with both hands, and visibly trying to suck in. He tried again, pushing harder, hands sinking further into his blubbery stomach. 

“That bad?” Derek asked.

Stiles let his arms fall to his sides. His tummy sank back down, hanging low. Derek’s hand wandered from his back along one of his plump love handles, spilling over his waistband, and then settled on his lower belly, cupping a soft handful.

“You tell me, dude.”

“Sorry?”

Stiles touched a hand to his upper belly, where he was roundest, patting it ruefully. “Can’t see the scale. Too much of this in the way.”

_Jesus Christ._ Derek felt a hot jolt of desire run through him. He stepped closer to Stiles, knowing that Stiles would feel how hard he was getting, pressed up against his plush ass cheeks.

“Well, it was only a matter of time,” he said, when he was finally able to form words. “You’ve packed a good few inches on there recently, haven’t you? Your weight loves to stick to this greedy belly of yours.” He gave said belly a firm slap; the flesh jiggled enticingly under his palm, and Stiles let out a moan.

“You gonna look or what?” Stiles said, breathless, and Derek resisted the urge to kiss him senseless, instead leaning down to read the figure on the scale.

_337, _the display announced.__

__“That’s thirty pounds up since you last weighed yourself,” Derek reminded him, his knees feeling a little weak at the thought._ _

__“Man.” Stiles looked up at him coquettishly. “Can’t believe I’ve let myself go like this, Der. Maybe I should cut back a bit. No more takeout. No more pastries. I’ll be good. Starting tomorrow.”_ _

__Breaking character for a moment, Derek cupped his chubby cheeks and told him, “You’re fucking perfect, Stiles.”_ _

__“Don’t get sappy on me, dude,” Stiles said, pink-cheeked and pleased. He leaned in for a kiss, and Derek wrapped his arms as far as they would go around his huge, soft boyfriend._ _

__“Well, if your diet starts tomorrow,” Derek said, stroking his messy brown hair, “we’d better make sure you have a good breakfast today. What would you like?”_ _

__Stiles considered the matter, and then, with an innocent smirk, began to list just about every breakfast food Derek could imagine. “Too much?” he asked bashfully._ _

__“Anything you want,” Derek told him, rubbing down the huge curve of his belly, round and plump and perfect. “Anything.”_ _


End file.
